The Darkest Night
by macaronisofa
Summary: A suffocating darkness moves through the city's underbelly, and it has gone undetected too long as it rears it's ugly head. Everyone has been affected by this subtle change and sudden uprising, including Gotham's most well know criminals. There's only one man who can stop this. But can he? And with the Joker caught in the middle of it all, what fates shall befall them all?
1. Prolouge

Blindly.

He was fumbling blindly through the dark. He wanted out. He wanted to get away. He coughed loudly, pain wracking his body, and he stumbled, reaching his hands out to balance himself on a wall as he felt himself through the darkness, terrified. The pain was spreading through his body like a poison, leaving a fiery agony in it's wake, and it made him gag. It took his breath away. It made him want to lie down and cry. It made him...want to give up. He continued his feeble fumbling, breathing heavily, as his foot caught on something in the dark, and he lurched forward, landing heavily on the cold floor.

"Ngh...ga... _gaaahh..."_ He spit gobs of blood and God now what else onto the dark floor, and he just could _not breathe._ He continued his raspy gasping, as he used everything he had to try to get to his feet.

He could not.

He lay there on the dusty wooden floor, gasping, spitting blood, heaving. And when the first sob came, it surprised him. He hadn't cried in a long while. Then came another, and another, until he was lying on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably; the tears coming unchecked, warm and hot and salty, and it made breathing all the more difficult.

He was going to _die._

He was going to die here in the dark, bleeding and broken, and there was nothing he could do to save himself. Not anything. Not this time. No brilliant scheme, no equipment up his sleeve to use, no...there was nothing. Nothing he could do. He felt useless...helpless.

 _No..._ he repeated it in his head over and over, as if the word itself would change his fate. He shook his head, but as he tried to squeak, the only sound that escaped was a choked gurgle, as he curled up into a fetal position, arms wrapped around his stomach. A fresh series of sobs overtook him, and he closed his eyes, s the gravity of the situation slowly dawned on him.

He wasn't coming for him this time. He wouldn't come to save him now. Not after...not after what he had done. He laughed dryly, a choking, wet sound, as he pressed his forehead, coated with green hair and blood, onto the cold floor...laughing crazily now, as he braced himself.

This...was _it._

 _10 days earlier..._


	2. Day One

DAY ONE-FRIDAY, SEMPTEMBER 7TH, 9:15 A.M., SUZY'S CAFE.

* * *

It was brisk. A chill sweeping through the air, picking up trash and dust and things, swirling tendrils flowing down the narrow alleys and wide streets of Gotham City. A tall man in a dark overcoat pulled his coat a little tighter around himself, as he continued his walk. The city was busy already, people walking to and fro, jumbling together like ants, voices booming, cars driving by, the sounds of the city filling his ears like a familiar song. The leaves of trees had already started turning colors of reds and yellow and browns, a few stray leaves blowing around with the wind, along with stray pieces of trash.

He stopped at the crosswalk, leaning against a traffic pole, waiting for the crossing sign to turn green. He inhaled deeply, glancing at his destination. A cafe across the street, a large coffee cup and saucer suspended above the front doors, a green neon 'Suzy's' sign above that. He knew the place well. It was frequented by a man named Mitch, who worked as a snitch to pick up a few extra bucks. The man in the overcoat smirked, as he watched a brown haired man, slender and spindly, with large oval glasses, which he recognized as Mitch, enter the cafe, looking around himself nervously and settling into a booth near the back.

When he heard the sign switch, he stood fully, and continued his brisk walk. It was busy when he entered the cafe, voice reverberating around the room. This was good. The noise would disguise his voice, and the crowd would make sure he would not be noticed, or missed. He kept his head down and collar high, as he walked toward the booth in the back. He needed some information today. He sat at a booth directly behind Mitch, who he had seen walk in earlier.

He glanced around, looking for the day's waitress. When he spotted her, he was a bit surprised, that he did not recognize her. She was a tall redhead with freckles, who smiled as she walked over to him. He did not look at her as he ordered a coffee he would never touch. AS the waitress scurried off, he leaned back against the booth behind him. "Are you there?" He made his voice as raspy as possible.

"Yessir." Came the meek reply. This was good. He did have some information today. He glanced up as the waitress brought him his coffee, setting it on his table and walking away as fast as her legs would carry her. He focused his attention back to Mitch. "What do you have for me today?" He asked, smirking slightly. He could almost hear the nervous shaking of the other man.

"Nothing really, sir." He swallowed, "Although I have heard of an impending breakout at Arkham Asylum." He was intrigued now.

"The Joker?"

"Possibly. I'm not positive."

"Is that all?"

"Yes sir."

The man stood up silently from his booth, placing a twenty dollar bill on Mitch's table as he walked out of the cafe, the small coffee on his table left untouched. He had some good information. He'd have to keep an eye out at Arkham. If there was indeed a breakout brewing, especially if it was the Joker, it had to be stopped. He swerved through some people as he walked out onto South Cicero Street. He inhaled the musty smell of the city, as he turned right, heading for his day job. He sighed as he walked. These past few months had been boring. Nobody to fight, nothing to track, no Joker. He needed a little excitement. He should be happy that not much crime was happening in Gotham right now, but he couldn't help but be a little disappointed. And a little on edge.

He crossed the street, and turned into the glass building in front of him. He reached out, opening the doors, lowering his collar, and relaxing a bit. A man standing in the lobby waved at him, walking over to him.

"They're waiting for you upstairs, sir."

The man smiled politely, "Thank you. Tell them I'll be right up."

"Ok sir." He suddenly put up a hand forward, calling out, "Oh! And have a nice day Mister Wayne!"

Bruce smiled. Hopefully today would be a nice day.

* * *

9:30 A.M.-ARKHAM ASYLUM FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE

* * *

Voices echoed through the large white room, tons of patients sitting on the metal chairs, their tables nailed to the floor. It was too loud for his taste at breakfast. Once in awhile one of the real crazies would yell or scream, but otherwise everything was relatively docile. Maybe a little too docile for his taste. Boring. He sat in his individual metal chair, which was sturdily nailed to the white tile floor. He gazed lazily at his plate of what resembled...or _used_ to be, an omelet.

He poked at it with his fork, and suddenly he wasn't very hungry. The man beside him bumped him with his elbow, as he placed his face into his food. How disgusting. He sneered at him in distaste, scooting to his right a little more, away from likes-food-in-his-face man. He sighed, pushing his plate away from him.

"Hey _whitey,_ you gonna eat that?" A man across from him asked, eyes large, looking hungrily at the omelet thing that still rested on the plate untouched. He sighed for what seemed like the billionth time that day, and it wasn't even noon yet. Joker really hated when people called him that.

He didn't answer, but continued to stare at the table in front of him. He wiggled his elbows a little bit, glad to be free of his straight jacket. God how he hated the breakfast here. It was horrible...lazily made.

It could make a man sick.

A smile slowly crept itself across his face, as the man across from him reached out to take his plate. His fingers gripped the fork hidden in his hand under the table tightly.

A scream reverberated off the walls. Orderlies and guards burst int the room as he made his escape.

* * *

10:56 A.M.-PAULI'S DINER

* * *

He sat, comfortably at a booth near the window, sipping his coffee and tapping his foot on the carpeted floor of the diner. He reached up to readjust the fedora resting on his head, and propped the collar of his trench coat up a little bit higher. He coughed, taking another bite of the omelet sitting on the plate in front of him.

He giggled.

This was soooooo much better than his _other_ omelet. This one had _cheese._

He sat, digging through his omelet, looking at the cheese inside, humming a tune to himself happily, sipping some more coffee. He was finally awake, and he felt better than he had in awhile. He turned and began sifting through the newspaper to his left busily, looking through the headlines until he came to what he was looking for. His scarlet lips curved upwards steadily as he read it carefully, eyes wandering over the few scant pictures they had caught of the Batman. Most were blurred, because Batsy just never stood _still_. But the third, oh the third was a good one. Honestly, he was kind of jealous. His bottom lip protruded in a mock pout. He could never get a picture of Bats that was _that_ good.

He scanned the writing below, stating that the Batman had stopped a gang fight on _blah blah blah,_ during _blah blah blah,_ with _whoever cares._ He tossed the paper aside theatrically, and shoved the rest of his omelet into his mouth. He yawned, downed the rest of his coffee, and leaned back in his booth, satisfied.

He was in a good mood today, despite the bad circumstances of this morning. A plan was already brewing in his mind, but first he had somebody to visit. Trigger-Finger Joe, the man he had appointed to care for his...assets, while he was otherwise...occupied, had turned on him, taking investments for himself and acting like the big boss. Anyone else involved had simply disappeared from his radar. His lip curved upward in a grotesque snarl. He was not a happy camper.

Not. One. _Bit._

He stretched and yawned, when his waitress came up to the booth. Her voice high and slightly irritating, "How was everything sweetheart?"

He tilted his head in her direction, smile widening under his hat, "Delightful, my dear. _Much_ better than my _other_ breakfast." He giggled, as the waitress looked slightly confused, as she handed him his check. "Alright well, here's your check sir. Have a super day."

The Joker stood to full height as she sat his check on the table. He shelled out a twenty, and sat it on the check. He pulled out another five, lifted his hat a bit, and smile at her. The waitress dropped her coffee pot, and it shattered as it hit the floor.

"You too doll," He said, stuffing the five in her shirt pocket and walking out the door with a skip in his step. The waitress screamed as he left.

Once he was outside, he turned left, laughing quietly to himself as the noise inside the diner faded away. No doubt the woman at the diner would phone his appearance into the GCPD. Arkham had no doubt notified them of his escape. Joker's smile grew wider. And if the police knew, Batman would know in a matter of hours. The wind picked up a bit, blowing through the streets. He reached p to grab his hat, to keep it from flying off his head.

"Quite a nice breeze today, haha!" He loved the fall. He loved how everything changed color, and the landscape changed. He loved how it was cold, but not _too_ cold. It was almost perfect.

And the nights! Oh, the nights! They were amazing! He had spent quite a few with Batman, the wind blowing, leaves spinning in little tornadoes, bodies close, blows exchanged.

A shiver ran through his body and he muffled a laugh with his jacket. He was planning something nice for Batman. He was getting close to the hideout he knew Trigger Joe was hiding in. He had set the damn thing up himself! And he was coming to...not even to get his money back, but control. He wanted his control back. His city, his money, _his control._

That man would pay for trying to upstage the Joker. He snarled as he passed Suzy's Cafe. He chuckled. He knew the place. He sent a man named Mitch there with information on occasion. As far as he knew, Batman was the one who always came for information. He had strung Batman along for almost a year now, giving him just enough information to keep him on his toes. In all honesty, it was quite fun. He smiled all the way to the door in the back alley, which was...already wide open.

* * *

11:05 P.M.-WAYNE TOWER

* * *

Bruce sat in his oversized leather chair, at the large glass table, eyes closing and reopening at regular intervals. He yawned and leaned back in his chair, stretching, trying to shake the tiredness from himself. He did not realize everyone was staring until after he had readjusted his chair. He cleared his throat, smiling and nodding apologetically, "Sorry, sorry. Carry on."

The man talking continued his speech hesitantly, but Bruce wasn't paying him any mind. All this bored him. He stood up from his chair, arms behind his back as he sauntered over to the window. He leaned against it, looking down at the streets below, sighing heavily, eyes scanning, until something caught his eye in the alley below.

A man in a trench coat was approaching an open door, that whacked against a wall in the wind. As he looked closer, the man in the coat seemed to pull a revolver out of his coat. Bruce was immediately interested. This man was no police officer...

Bruce leaned against the window to get a better look. The man below looked around himself and then back at the open door. The man stopped just before entering, and glanced up at Wayne Tower, and seemingly...right at Bruce.

Bruce caught a glimpse of white, red, and green...

"Motherfucker..." Bruce exclaimed, in anger.

It took him a moment to realize he had said it aloud. He rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, "Sorry everyone, uh," he fumbled slightly as he edged toward the door, "I just...I have to go. Continue gentleman. Thanks for your time." Anger bubbled in the pit of his stomach, but also a bit of excitement as he speed walked down the hall. He felt a little lucky to have seen him. Usually he did not find him until after something bad had already happened.

Maybe a lucky break.

Or a really bad one...

* * *

12:15 P.M.-TRIGGER FINGER JOE'S HIDEOUT

* * *

He gripped his revolver in his hand tightly, as he entered the dark room. He had immediately been aware of something out of sorts when he had seen the door open. He knew by heart that the door had seven locks. _No one,_ would have left it open for so long. As he walked a bit further, he saw the first blood smears on the floor.

"Huh. Oh well, I wonder who's been playing in my sand box? HAHA!" He leaned against the side of the door frame, peering into the large meeting room. It was empty, for the most part. Five men had been shot. Three of them, most of whom Joker did not recognize, sat poised in their chairs, as if they were taking business, even in death. The other two were lying toward the door, Trigger Joe closest to the exit. Joker sneered at him, kicking his body over ungracefully. "You always were a coward, Joe-Joe," he snarled, stepping over the body. Cowards.

He glanced around, revolver still clutched in hand. Everything was a mess. Things overturned, drawers searched through, papers and money askew.

"Hm. Who's been digging in my things?" He glanced upwards when he heard it. A voice. He raised an eyebrow, and started up the stairs to the suspended office.

"Yeah boss, they're all dead."

"So it's a lackey, how unfortunate." He mumbled, walking into the room quietly behind the lackey. The lackey held a walkie-talkie, "The Joker? Sir, are you sure? I mean," He stopped talking suddenly, interrupted on the other end.

Joker smiled, walking up behind him, stifling giggles, lips near the goon's ear. .

"The Joker?" He whispered.

The walkie-talkie dropped from the man's hand, and the front of his head exploded.

* * *

12:22 P.M.-TRIGGER FINGER JOE'S HIDEOUT

* * *

He heard the gun shot from withing as he approached the door. He went on full alert when he saw the blood. He could smell the gunpowder in the air as he crept into the room. He immediately headed for the shadows. He inspected the bodies carefully. They had all been killed by a single gunshot. Had the Joker done this?

Batman was doubtful. He headed up toward the suspended office, crouching soundlessly. The smell was stronger up here. He peered around the doorway, and caught his first glimpse of the Joker.

The Joker's arm lowered, putting the revolver away into a pocket in his jacket. A man lay in front of him in a crumpled bloody heap, the front of his head held a gaping hole, just about the size of a revolver bullet.

Joker had shot him.

Batman watched him intently, as Joker bent down to pick up a walkie-talkie from the ground. "Hello? Anybody there?" Joker's voice took on a more vicious tone, "Listen here you, you get away from my stuff and out of my way, or I'll find you and get rid of you myself!" He yelled, as he threw the walkie at the wall, smashing it into pieces. His mood shifted suddenly, "Well, this was a huge waste of time. Come to think of it, I am a little hungry, _hehehee_."

Batman ducked back behind the door frame as the Joker turned around. He pressed himself hard against the wall, hoping to God that the darkness concealed him. He listened to the Joker's footsteps as he began exiting the small room. Batman almost stopped breathing when the Joker came to an abrupt halt in front of him. When Batman followed the clown's emerald gaze over to the circular meeting table, right past it to a fresh blood smear. In the shape of a boot.

He heard a soft chuckling emanating from the slightly shaking form of the Joker.

"Well, well," Joker looked around, eyebrow raised, "look's like someone dropped by a little too late for the party."

Batman pushed against the wall even more, as the Joker stood right beside him now, his form towering over the Batman's crouched one. He held his breath as the Joker gazed right over him. "But it's still nice of you to drop in." He flung his arms out dramatically, smiling wide, "You know I always like to see you."

 _'Damn it',_ Batman thought, _'how could he have recognized that?'_

Batman inwardly kicked himself. He should have known, been more careful. The Joker was by far the smartest of his foes, and when it came to Batman, he never missed a beat. Joker scanned the room, black ringed eyes glowing, searching for the Bat. Batman relaxed his pose slightly as Joker passed him. He listened as the clown descended the metal steps slowly, one after another.

The Joker sauntered by the meeting table, glancing down blankly at the smeared footprint. He was waiting. The Bat was here. He knew it. He was just waiting to see if ol'Baty-Man would make a move now. He knew how Batsy was about the day.

A large smile crept across his face, and he started laughing, turning his head around to face the shadow where he _knew_ Batman was hiding.

Their eyes connected.

"Well, I guess the big ol' Bat really is afraid of the sun after all," he clucked his tongue, shaking his head as he taunted, "Oh well, that's just to bad. Looks like poor Batsy's gonna miss out." The Joker headed toward the door, stopping a few feet from the doorway, and said, without looking back, "See you soon, Batman."

Batman's form melted out of the shadows as he stood, a frown on his face, as the Joker walked out the door.

* * *

9:15 P.M.-THE BATCAVE

* * *

Alfred was walking down the metal steps of the Batcave, holding the warm tray of food that was Bruce's dinner. He could see master Bruce sitting at the large computer he called the Bat Computer, staring blankly at the screen, which was filled with a grotesque red smile. The Joker's face frozen mid-laughter on the screen.

Alfred approached silently, "Master Bruce?" Bruce started, jerking upright, and turning to face Alfred. "Oh. Yes, sorry Alfred. What is it?"

Alfred held out the tray, "Supper sir. You missed it."

Bruce motioned for Alfred to lay the tray next to him. Alfred id so, and glanced u a the hideous and terrifying face. His own face contorted in disgust. "Horrid."

Bruce laughed, Alfred frowned in response, "I just don't see the hilarity in that, sir." He huffed, shaking his head and turning away.


End file.
